


equivocal

by macabre



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Depression, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, but also very depressed Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:35:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24459808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macabre/pseuds/macabre
Summary: Tony would not be able to mistake those eyes for anyone else’s, and neither would anyone else in that room. Not just because they’re the same color and shape as Tony’s - that anyone could see, but also because Tony recognizes the look in them. That dead, been dead look. It’s a look born out of something lacking, and because Tony doesn’t know anything about this kid he can only assume a lack of a father in his life might be the cause of it.(Another AU bio dad story. This one is more about depression than anything else though, and some trigger warnings apply.)
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 77
Kudos: 334





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a few things: this follows MCU's timeline for Tony, however not for MCU Peter Parker. Peter is nineteen in this when they meet. I never thought I would write an Evil May fic, but this kind of skirts around it, so hardcore May stans, read with caution. 
> 
> This was supposed to be a one shot, but it was starting to feel a little unwieldy. Y'all know by now I write the same shit over and over again, so enjoy this same story, different take.

He doesn’t get the call; Pepper does. In fact, even Rhodey knows before him, given his residence with Tony at the compound while they get his legs right. If things had been different, and he hadn’t just had his face beaten in by someone who he considered one of his closest friends, then maybe the way things unraveled would have been different. 

But, they aren’t. Tony can hardly stand or sit or do anything in the same space for more than ten seconds at a time. He knows he’s on a manic trip - he’s trying his best with Rhodey, but even his oldest friend is finding his presence trying as of late. His mood swings are intense, even for him, and it’s not fair to let Rhodey bare the burden of them, hence why he makes himself scarce from all other life forms as much as possible, but it’s a vicious cycle of the guilt and need to help his best friend walk again weighed with the need to spare him from Tony himself. 

It’s a dark couple of months, all to say that Tony isn’t in the right head space to be given such colossal news. Not that there would have been a good time. 

He knows something is up; Pepper goes from irritated with him to calm and understanding, even when he says particularly harsh things that would have been sure to get a rise out of her before. She doesn’t say anything for awhile, then one night he gets caught in-between her and Rhodey ushering him to the table for dinner. It’s formally set and everything for him already, not something they often do, so he knows.

“Just tell me. Whatever it is. I can’t deal with you two making faces behind my back anymore,” he snips. God, he sounds ugly. He doesn’t want to hear himself talk either. 

Pepper sighs, looking down at her hands on the table. Maybe she’s looking at that ring and wondering why she bothers. Rhodey looks morose - he’s got that long and sad face on that is reserved only for Tony’s poorest behavior. 

“Tony.” He can see the gears in Pepper’s head turning, as if she hasn’t practiced whatever it is she’s about to say already. “Some news has some up the channels in the company. Apparently, the board was trying to squash it before it reached you or me, but…”

Great. They’re trying to bar him out again. Well, they’ve dealt with it before.

“There’s a kid. With a paternity test.”

Oh. 

_Oh._

“Pep, we’ve been here before,” Tony says carefully, but he knows already. With that gut clenching and sinking feeling, he knows. Why else the charade?

She just gives him her gentlest smile. “I sent Happy to get a confirmation in person. He sat there with him while the blood was drawn, and it was Helen, Tony. There’s no mistake or falsifying this one.”

Wow, the list of people who know about this before Tony grows longer and longer. 

Wait -

“Him? It’s a boy?” Tony isn’t sure why it matters - his kid or not, this is a disaster waiting to happen.

Pepper nods. “His name is - ”

Tony stands abruptly, the chair making the most heinous sound on the floor. “Don’t.”

“Tony.” Rhodey crosses his arms, like he’s there for crowd control. Which he is, sort of.

“I don’t want to know.”

“Honey.” Pepper just looks sad, and Tony knows this could be the last straw between them. She’s put up with so much of his shit, and a legitimate paternity claim on top of everything going on right now is sure to be the final blow. 

Idly, he realizes she’s wearing a sleek black dress. A funeral dress, he thinks. A dress to wear when you put something to rest.

“I can’t.”

Tony thinks of his mother’s face, both the face he remembers from his earliest childhood, but also the face he saw at her funeral. They kept his father’s casket closed at his funeral; he wasn’t spared the less violet death. He then thinks of Steve Roger’s face and his own face after he looked in the mirror post Siberia. 

He can’t even imagine what combination of his face he’d see in this kid.

Tony thinks about running straight to his liquor cabinet in the lab; he thinks about locking himself in his bedroom. He does neither. Instead, he gets in the first car parked in the lot and takes a drive. Best to put the distance in-between himself and the others for the moment. 

He knows that his thoughts should be full of what-ifs and how’s and a host of paternal guilt, but surprisingly, they are not. Part of the reason they built the compound where they built is because of the pretty scenery, so Tony drives those back roads, twisting and turning, for hours, and there’s scarce a thought to be had in his head for once. 

Mercifully, they give him space the rest of the day, even when he returns to the compound. It’s dark and quiet all the time now since the team splintered, but this evening it seems especially dim. Tony faceplants into his bed when he returns and doesn’t need to tell FRIDAY to dim the lights. The next morning though, there’s a gentle hand running through his hair. He hasn’t bathed in a couple of days, and it’s that thought that really wakes him up.

“Pep?” he asks, trying to subdue his usual morning ire. She usually don’t try and talk to him before caffeine has time to kick in, but she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed and ready to go somewhere.

“I’m going into the city to meet with him,” she says. “He agreed to come in and talk with a few people.”

It takes him a second, then yesterday catches up to him. Tony looks away from her sharply. Right. 

“I know you don’t feel ready to come with me, and I’m not going to push it right now, but I wanted you to know that certain people will be present there. I couldn’t shut down the entire board.”

Certain people being lawyers, she means.

“Apparently, he’s agreed to sign some things.” Pepper sighs, twisting her engagement ring around. When he doesn’t respond, she stands gracefully and clicks away. 

He assumes that means this kid is willing to sign away his connection and claim to Stark Industries at the very least, but there are all sorts of things he knows they’ll try to make him sign. 

Just how old is this kid? Suddenly, Tony feels existential dread coming on in a whole new way. There was no mention of a guardian signing, just the kid. Christ. It’d be one thing to find out there was a toddler somewhere, even though he knows that it’s impossible anymore since he’s been with Pepper, but it’s a whole other thing to find out about a kid that’s old enough to sign his own legal paperwork.

He lies around in bed, wrestling with the words on his tongue. He could ask FRIDAY; she surely has all the information, but he doesn’t. He does, however, get up and shower. He puts on one of his favorite pinstripe suits, similar to one he wore when he came to power in SI. His motions are made up before his mind.

When he comes out of his room, Rhodey is waiting, dressed more causally in a leather jacket with car keys hanging off his fingers. “You ready?” he asks. 

“Yeah.”

They drive in silence all the way into the city. Rhodey knows better than to say a single thing about anything - one word will tip Tony into a downward spiral and he will call his suit and fly right the fuck back to the compound. Rhodey pulls up parallel to the tower and idles the car, waiting for Tony to get out. Tony thinks about commenting on how smoothly he drove here - previous attempts had been jerkier with his new legs. 

He gets out without a word, and Rhodey immediately takes off. Tony stands there watching, aware of some people on the street noticing his presence slowly. He sees a young man, early twenties, with a dark cap pulled on over his head and some sunglasses and thinks - that could be him, for all he knows. Anyone out here could be mine. 

Inside, he grabs an elevator and FRIDAY automatically takes him to the correct floor. He wonders if she warned Pepper he was coming after all. When he gets out, the halls are quiet. In his ear, FRIDAY tells him which conference room it is, and that they’ve already been in there for an hour. 

It takes longer for him to get his feet moving now that there are no immediate prying eyes watching him. The conference room in question is a larger one, and it spans across the building with floor to ceiling windows on one side and glass on the other, so that as Tony approaches he can see everyone inside. 

He notices Pepper first - she’s put herself at the head of the table. She’s got a bold red lip on, which he knew she would, because she once confided that the darker her lip color the more in charge she felt. It’s a nice thing to be able to predict, right now. 

The kid is easy to pick out. First of all, he’s sitting next to Pepper, and Tony is sure that his fiancé put him there to protect him as much as possible, whether it’s from himself or from the lawyers. Second, the kid sticks out like a sore thumb with his baggy jeans and hoodie. He’s sitting with his back to Tony, but he can see some shaggy curls and a slight neck with poor posture.

Tony walks up until he’s directly behind the sitting kid right on the other side of the glass. Some of the businessmen in the room begin to notice him, conversations around the room growing quiet as they watch him watch the kid. It’s a ripple effect that ends at the head of the table. First, Pepper notices him, her face almost stricken. Then - 

Then he turns. This nameless kid to Tony turns and looks at him.

He feels nothing for a moment. Then, his heart explodes. The thumping and rushing of blood to his head is so intense that he clutches at his reactor and wonders if he’s actually having a heart attack. He stumbles back away from the glass, Pepper rising on the other side in concern. He tries to wave it away, but he ends up retreating with his tail between his legs, finding an empty office space and putting a door in-between him and everyone else. 

Deep breathes, FRIDAY reminds him. It’s bad enough that she suggests he sit with his head between his legs, and his legs are such like jelly now that he has no choice. When someone politely knocks at the door he’s leaning against, he slams a fist back against it to hopefully warn them off. 

When he can’t hold it in anymore, he gasps for breath, and it sounds like he’s dying. It certainly feels like he is. He can’t suppress the groan anymore, and he hopes whoever it is out there is gone now and can’t hear him.

God, those eyes - he wouldn’t be able to mistake those eyes for anyone else’s, and neither would anyone else in that room. Not just because they’re the same color and shape as Tony’s - that anyone could see, but also because Tony recognizes the look in them. That dead, been dead look. It’s a look born out of something lacking, and because Tony doesn’t know anything about this kid he can only assume his lack of a father in his life might be the cause of it.

No one bothers him again in that room. Enough time goes by that the meeting must be long over, but Tony sits there on that floor and catalogues the little things he could notice about the kid. Besides the eyes, the kid had a lot of curls, a few freckles across the high parts of his cheeks, indicating he might have been tanner in the past than he currently is. Scrawny over all, although he tries to hide it under the baggy clothing. His complexion isn’t super similar to Tony’s, but it would have been a near match to his mother’s. 

He must be around around eighteen. Old enough that lawyers can ask him to sign those papers, but not much older, because in reality he looks about fourteen. 

Once again, when Tony opens the door, Rhodey is standing almost directly outside of it. He’s ditched his leather jacket and rolled up the sleeves on his button down under it. “You’re lucky I can still keep tabs on you even through a door, otherwise there would have been an EMT up in here.”

“Did…” Tony trails off, looking down the hall where the conference room is. “Did you see him?”

Rhodey shakes his head. 

“He’s gone?”

He nods.

Tony nods.

“Right.” He feels like collapsing on this side of the door again, now that no one else is around. 

“You ready to face the music or you wanna run back to the compound?”

“I don’t -” Tony gasps for air, and Rhodey makes to move for him.

“Hey, hey, take a breath and hold it for a second, okay?” Rhodey doesn’t actually touch him, which he’s grateful for. He tries, he really does, but it feels like a losing battle. “Yeah okay, I think we’re done here. Let’s head back.”

“No. No, I’m staying in the city.” 

“Really?” 

Tony has been hiding at the compound since Siberia despite loudly protesting its lack of style or comforts before all of that. No one has been able to drag him out of it for months.

He doesn’t say anything else, he just slides along the walls until he’s back at the elevator, FRIDAY ushering them up into a living quarter for him that he hasn’t used in two years. Putting a place for them in where they worked didn’t exactly impress Pepper at the time, but he finds it just the same when he exits the elevator.

Rhodey doesn’t follow him past the kitchen. Tony disappears into the master bedroom and closes the door softly. “Okay girl - it’s time.”

FRIDAY pulls it all up for him; Peter Parker. Age nineteen - barely. Born right here in New York state, and raised here all of his life, it looks like. Mother - Mary Fitzgerald. Wow. It takes him awhile to rack to head for that name. The kid graduated from Midtown the previous May; Tony wonders if he naturally came by his enthusiasm for STEM or if he felt the pressure from his biological factors. Of course, he can see Mary died when Peter was very young. His listed guardian is May Parker, an aunt by marriage. 

May Parker has a listed address in Queens. Tony wonders if that’s where Peter lives; he can’t find any other address for him.

Through the aid of tagged social media, Tony finds pictures of Peter, mostly from the last few years. There are a few through Midtown he finds too. Academic decathlon photos, one from a marching band even, though Peter’s face isn’t really recognizable in the sea of faces and poor image quality. None of these pictures really seem to match the kid he just saw. They’re the same boy, clearly, but there’s something missing in these photos.

He puts all the information away; his heart feels like it’s functioning almost normally again. He hasn’t had anything to eat in over twenty-four hours, and it’s actively hurting him now, so he emerges to grab his friend and leave for dinner. 

Pepper finds them at the low key spot Rhodey picked; she slides into a cramped seat next to Tony and picks off of his plate. For the moment, no one says anything and it feels okay to be outside in the real world. 

Rhodey takes off after dinner. Pepper walks back to the tower with him, arm-in-arm. “As soon as some of these legal papers are filed, it will be unavoidable. It’ll get leaked, Tony.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Regardless of what relationship you want, he’s going to need some help for awhile. He’ll need protection. You know it’s possible someone might try something, and you don’t want that hanging over your head.”

“Given the fact he isn’t here, I’m assuming you still have Happy tailing him, regardless of whether the kid knows it or not.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to leave him completely exposed.”

“You’re a saint, Pepper Potts.”

“Tony.” She doesn’t follow him into the building. She stops where they are, even as Tony continues walking. “You’re going to stay here?”

“This was our baby, wasn’t it? Once upon a time?”

“Tony.”

“Guess this one is just 100% mine.”

“Tony.”

She’s getting further and further behind him, fading into the background. All of her red lipstick is gone now.

“You did good today, Potts.”

Once he’s back upstairs, Tony remembers how much he hated these living quarters too; of course, nothing has ever felt like home like Malibu did, but that’s all gone now, and it’s only because it was the first place he built for himself after his parents died and left him all their property that he really liked the house. Truth is, nothing ever feels homey to him. He hasn’t the foggiest idea how that should feel. 

Peter didn’t sign every paper put in front of him today; Tony looks over the forms he did and did not sign. He has relinquished the rights to claiming any part of the company in any event, but he didn’t sign documents that mandated he desist in contacting Tony further. 

The kid hasn’t been trying to contact him though. Turns out the kid had a standard paternity test run after he turned eighteen - indicating he had no idea who his father was all his life - and it was the lab technician in a hospital that got the results and tried to do something with it. His lawyers were able to easily squash that, but apparently after that the news got around to different board members. 

The kid never actually did anything with the results himself though. He didn’t come to the tower demanding to be seen, he didn’t run out to a paper or news channel, the surest and fastest way he would have gotten Tony’s attention. He’s been sitting on these results for months now. 

Tony doesn’t let this information inform him on anything Peter Parker though; there could be any number of reasons for that, but by the end of the night he knows he will search out Peter sooner rather than later. Happy won’t be enough protection when the story breaks, and they need to make sure that the kid is safe no matter what. Tony owes him that.

The next morning, Tony makes himself get up and make a complete breakfast at a respectable time. Today, he dresses in joggers and a hoodie, grabs a baseball cap to throw on. He’s ready to hit the streets incognito, but turns out he doesn’t need to. Peter doesn’t exactly come to him, but May Parker sure does. 

So does the rest of the world.

The story didn’t even last the night; everyone else gets to find out Tony Stark has a son in just the forty-eight hours after he finds out. 

The crowds outside the tower are mostly news outlets, some independent reporters, or even Christine Everhart and a few other periodical publications, but there are clearly just some curious New Yorkers gathered with them as well. It’s enough of a mob that extra security has already been called and gathered in front of the building. Tony stands in the otherwise empty ground floor entrance and looks at them on the other side of the glass, cameras frantically flashing at him and wonders where Peter Parker is and if this is why he didn’t do anything with the paternity results.

May Parker stands at the front of the mob, trying to fend off some of the people trying to push past her. She looks frazzled, and there’s no way Tony would have recognized her from the DMV photo FRIDAY pulled along with Peter’s info, but she succinctly informs Tony that facial recognition has positively identified her. 

Tony asks one of the security officers left inside to grab her for him. 

When she comes in from outside, she brings some of that chaotic feeling with her. She’s flustered, trying to fix her hair behind her, and maybe didn’t expect to actually see Tony, judging by the look on her face. 

“Mr. Stark,” she says. “I’m looking for my nephew, Peter Parker. Is he here?”


	2. Chapter 2

It’s not that Tony can say he expected anything per se from May Parker; he didn’t know of her existence until the day prior even, but there’s something about her that he can’t quite put a finger on. She’s got the whole hippie dippie vibe going on based on everything from her clothing to her hair and glasses, but she isn’t giving off the feeling of free love exactly either. 

She’s standing in the middle of the open kitchen of the living quarters of his penthouse in the tower; albeit there’s nothing really to see, she’s gawking and taking things in on her own time. She looks a little flustered, which he can understand, but there’s something else simmering underneath all that. She’s making Tony anxious in more ways than one.

He thought about taking her into one of the conferences rooms below him, but this space feels just as impersonal to him as one of those rooms. Tony knows he should open his mouth to offer a beverage or a seat, anything, but instead he finds himself standing with his arms crossed, waiting. Part of him felt relieved when he first spotted her - maybe he wouldn’t have to go hunting down Peter after all - but now he just feels ambushed, because apparently this guardian of his kid has no idea where said kid is.

He’d feel annoyed at this from and for anyone, but the fact that it’s his biological kid out there with no tabs on him should make him feel more than that, right? “So when’s the last time you saw him?”

“You mean other than last night on the news?” Her voice sounds thin and tight. She breathes out a long and low whistling sound. “Sorry. I don’t mean to come across rude. There’s just - a lot.”

Tony nods, or he thinks he nods. He’s not sure. “Mrs. Parker - ” He starts and stops. What was he going to say? He’s having a hard time organizing his thoughts. 

“You really didn’t know anything about him?” She asks. Apparently, she’ll be driving this meeting.

“No.”

“You, one of the greatest minds of our time, didn’t have a clue?”

“No.”

She sighs dramatically, and in this moment Tony realizes that there’s something almost comforting about Pepper sighing. When this woman does it, it grates his nerves like chalk on a board. 

“So what does this mean for him?”

“I don’t know; it depends on what Peter wants from me, I guess.”

She smiles, or grimaces. Unsure. “What Peter wants? He’s a kid, Mr. Stark. How could he answer that?”

Tony isn’t sure what’s happening here; she’s cornered him to attack him about his intentions, sure, he gets that, but does she or doesn’t she want to find the said kid before they worry about all that? “So, are you going to answer my question or not: when’s the last time you saw him?”

May Parker fidgets with her purse, adjusts the glasses on her face. She takes her time answering, and when she does: “That’s complicated.”

Christ, he hasn’t had enough coffee this morning. “It’s actually not. When is the last time you saw him?”

Tony expects to hear that it was last Tuesday at dinner, or maybe if things are really bad she hasn’t seen him in a few weeks because he’s off being rebellious about a long lost father who is also a celebrity. Instead, he hears something truly worrisome. 

“Peter is,” she stops. She looks up at him sharply with a look of trepidation, as if for once she seems to remember who’s wheelhouse she’s in. “He’s a complicated boy. He’s been through a lot, and I can admit that I didn’t handle it all the best way possible.”

He can feel his heart sinking. 

She continues, but all she says is: “I haven’t had regular contact with Peter in a year.”

“How? How is that possible? He’s a kid.” Tony keeps his voice level, but so many alarm bells are going off already.

“When he turned eighteen, he was out the door. Honestly, I didn’t see much of him before that. He slept over on different friends’ couches for most of high school already because of everything he was involved in with school. He kept busy, and at the time I thought it was best to let him flex some of that independence. They don’t stay kids forever, you know?”

That may be true, but in Tony’s book, nineteen is still a kid, and the idea of a fourteen-year-old couch surfing already in high school has less to do with independence and more to do with running away from home. Or maybe that’s just Tony’s convoluted family history speaking. 

“So, let’s recap here: you haven’t spoken to him at all in a year?”

She shakes her head. “I mean, we’ve texted a few times. I know he’s doing okay.”

He’s not, Tony wants to say. He’s not doing okay, because the kid who he saw yesterday looked more dead than alive. He rubs at his temples; he needs to get this woman out of here and attempt to find the kid; he wonders if FRIDAY has already found him for Tony given the conversation currently happening.

“Mrs. Parker, can I ask why you’re here?” Tony’s patience is running thin. 

“What do you mean? I’m here because I’m looking for him.”

“But you weren’t looking for him until this morning, am I correct?”

Nothing. He can see her stretching for different answers, but she’s smart enough to exorcise some caution before responding. 

“I think you can imagine how this all looks to me,” Tony says. His voice is surprisingly calm given the absolute avalanche of emotion tumbling down from his brain to his heart to the tips of his fingers. He doesn’t want to completely lash out at this woman; he still doesn’t know exactly what is going on and he has learned some caution before burning bridges in adulthood, but she’s little more than an obstacle at this exact moment. 

“Mr. Stark.” She looks across the room once more before settling on him. “No one is a perfect parent, and I didn’t have a lot of resources to work with. I just ask that if you decide to have any kind of a relationship with him, you keep that in mind.”

It looks like she desperately wants to stay and say more, but Tony makes a big show of pulling the jacket that he doesn’t exactly need in summer back on, and she gets the hint that this conversation is over. They take the elevator back down to the ground floor, and he has a security officer help her out a back door. 

What a mess. 

Tony pulls out his phone and calls Happy. The man picks up right before it can go to voicemail. “Been waiting for your call,” he says.

“Please tell me you’re with the kid.”

“I’m outside the building,” Happy says, voice garbled. He must be eating something. “Surprisingly quiet here. The kid is staying with his best friend’s family - it’s only a matter of time until his name leaks too.”

“I’m calling some of Pilosci’s guys to join you. We need to increase security for the family too; it’s already a mess down here.”

“If the kid’s smart, he’ll lie low inside for awhile. I’m sure he’s seen the news by now.” There’s a lull in their conversation where they both listening to Happy’s chewing. “So, you headed this way too or what?”

He was, wasn’t he? Wasn’t that the purpose he had woken up with today, to find Peter and talk to him? And say what, exactly? 

Tony feels the edges of another panic attack coming on. He quickly retreats back into the closet of the master bedroom and closes the door. He sinks to his knees in front of a neat row of loafers still kept there and frantically starts counting the stitching on the soles. 

“I’ll call you back.”

Tony hangs up before Happy can say whatever it is he was about to. 

He thinks about Pepper, wondering where she stayed last night. They had picked out a nice brownstone together, a place to stay whenever they were in town on business, but the deal fell through before they closed, for no purpose other than Tony couldn’t stop arguing with inspectors on the property. Pepper let him loose the listing, and she didn’t press him to look for another place. She didn’t buy one herself either, although she long ago bought the very first apartment she had close to Malibu for no reason other than sentimentality. It stands empty and lonely, with no one other than a weekly cleaning service to let it see light. 

Christ. He needs to call her. 

Tony changes his shoes. They don’t go with his athleisure outfit, but that’s okay. It’s eccentric. He’s eccentric. It’s fine. 

“FRIDAY.” 

“Sir.”

“You been working on anything for me?”

“I’ve found many more things relating to Peter Parker that you will find interesting, sir. Given this morning’s encounter, I also dug a little more to anything related to May Parker. I think you should start here.”

The holographic file opens and collapses into all different kinds of documents before him. It’s nice and dark in the closet; it makes it easier for Tony to pull up and zoom out the one Friday scrolls in front of him.

“CPS?” Tony frowns. It’s dated five years ago - Peter would have been fourteen. “She had CPS called on her?”

“Correct, sir.”

It’s a very rudimentary form CPS uses for cases that need investigation, and of course, it’s not even fully filled out. Other than the names of those involved and the date, there’s not much information other than a signature at the bottom of the paper stating that an agent went to the residence listed to perform a home check. 

Home has running water and stocked fridge, the comments section reads. Peter has his own room and does well in school. 

That’s it. That’s all it says, as if the mountain of lines provided for this CPS agent to fill in mean nothing, they’re just a suggestion. “You couldn’t find anything else? No police reports? Anything from the building logged around that time?”

Tony tries to quiet the pounding in his temples before it completely gets away from him; CPS gets called for all sorts of reasons. May Parker wasn’t even a blood relation; maybe they were just following some kind of routine check. 

He tries to convince himself of this. 

“Sorry, boss. At least as of now, I can’t find anything else on this subject matter.”

“Fuck!” Tony hurls one of the sneakers he just removed at the other side of the closest; it can’t even make a loud noise for him, because it just disappears into hanging clothing. 

So here’s what he knows: he has a nineteen-year-old son who grew up with an aunt by marriage who kept nebulous tabs on him at best during at least a chunk of his childhood, probably all of it. CPS was called on her at some point, right around the time she said he started couch surfing rather than coming home. Said kid also got a paternity test right after he became old enough to get one, but decided not to do anything with the paternity test once he found out who Tony was. 

“FRIDAY, concentrate on May Parker for me.” Tony keeps his breathing measured. Rhodey isn’t there to help him. 

“Yes, boss. I am currently scanning through employment history for May Parker. So far any subsequent review of hers has been positive.”

He’d like to be able to say he got himself up off the floor at that point, but Tony doesn’t. He finds it difficult to do anything other than lie flat on his back. He does move the hologram so it’s directly above him and swipes through more photos of Peter that FRIDAY has collected. More from the school, some from social media of other students. 

It’s easy to find Peter’s best friend’s accounts; this must be where Peter is now. Ned Leeds. He has all of the usual media use of a kid of his generation; Peter is in plenty of the pictures, even though he isn’t tagged through to a personal account. 

The Peter in these photos range; there are pictures of a bright eyed and smiling kid, but then there are some of a boy with that same look in his eye. Tony can’t help but linger on photos where the kid is wearing short sleeves, which does seem to be rare for him, to look over the exposed skin for bruising, as if that’s the only sign there might be of abuse. 

In the happier looking pictures, Peter has his mouth full of a sandwich on the corner of a street, Ned in the foreground of the selfie posing with his own sandwich. There are pictures of them on a school bus going somewhere, Peter sleeping against the window and Ned throwing up a cheesy peace sign in front of himself with his friend in the background. But then he finds a picture of Peter and Ned with a few other kids, all sitting close together. Everyone in the picture is absolutely beaming, genuinely happy looking, but Peter’s face is blank and pale. Clearly aware of the photo being taken but unable to muster the faintest smile. 

God, it’s hard to look at. Tony doesn’t want to get involved, but here he is. He knows it was inevitable, even as much as he wants to deny it. How could he not at least know? This isn’t the first paternity claim - it may well be not the last either - and despite all of them being forged, it didn’t stop Tony from paying for all of one kid’s education and house after he took an interest. It was after his first sex tape scandal, and maybe he thought he could prove the opposite about himself, just by offering - something, anything - for this one child. 

He let himself get attached to those chubby cheek photos of a toddler bearing a slight resemblance to himself, in the same way all cute babies look alike. It was all his ego and slipping grip that deluded him into believing the lie, even just for the week. Even after he definitely knew the kid wasn’t his, Tony made sure to occasionally check up all the same. 

But that was a long time ago now. Ironically, that kid would be roughly Peter’s age. 

And now - how can he not get involved? When there’s something up; the details aren’t there yet. They’re in the background, hazy, but they’re present enough for Tony to recognize, and that’s agonizing. To know he’s already failed. 

FRIDAY shows him the alert right as the call comes in from Happy. “Hey Hap,” he says. “I assume you’re calling to tell me you lost the kid?”

Happy doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then a quiet apology. “I don’t know how it happened,” he says. “I’ve been posted here the entire Goddamn time!”

“My girl is working on it already.” Tony makes himself get up off the ground. It shouldn’t be this hard. He’s a super hero.

On top of the holographic file, FRIDAY plays a news channel that is broadcasting paparazzi photos of Peter, trying to look nondescript, out on some street in a hoodie drawn low over his face. The photos supposedly were taken just minutes ago, they claim, which probably means more like an hour. 

Tony cuts off Happy’s promises to find him immediately: “Scratch that Hap. I want you to take the rest of the day off.”

“What? You’re benching me?”

“Have you taken any time off in the past seventy-two hours?”

“Well, no, but -”

“Take the day. Get some rest. I don’t want you to burn yourself out. Besides, I think I’ve got a lead.” Tony hangs up the phone before Happy protests any more. “That corner look familiar to you?”

“I’ve uploaded the coordinates already, sir.”

In reality, it’s just a nondescript street corner - it could be virtually any in the city - but it’s the item hanging in Peter’s hand that Tony zeroes in on. A white wrapped sub sandwich. When he pulls up the picture from his friend’s account, the backgrounds are a match. 

It’s not that easy, of course. By the time Tony arrives to the location of Delmar’s, there are still some scattered photographers and news people; he’s sure that Peter has been long gone for some time, but it’s a start. Tony hits the pavement with FRIDAY in his ear as always, headed in the same direction that Peter was seen. 

He tries to think like a nineteen year old, which is hard enough for him given he hardly remembers those years while at school. He keeps a close eye on what he’s passing - storefronts and bars and restaurants. Peter could have ducked into any one of them. God, he hopes he’s not going to find him hiding out at a bar, and what a selfish thought that is. 

Tony also combats against a winding down clock; he knows that no matter how great his incognito look is today, eventually someone will notice him if he’s in the same area for too long. Fortunately, it doesn’t take long to locate Peter. 

“Boss, I’ve found him,” FRIDAY says, her voice laced with some form of sarcasm. “He’s two blocks west of you. There’s a fire escape you can use. He’s on the roof.”

“What’s with the tone, FRI?”

“Let’s just say he already reminds me of you.” Wow, he needs to stop programming so much personality and introspection into his AI. 

It’s already fucking hot in the day, so hauling his ass up the fire escape in his hoodie, cap, and joggers is awful. As he approaches the top, he slows, pressing a hand over his chest to try and calm his heart beat. He lets his fingers fold over the top ledge and just hold on there. 

He waits.

It’s quiet up there, but FRIDAY would have informed him if Peter left. 

Tony doesn’t do anything by halves, so instead of peeking, he just hoists himself up and over. 

The roof is wide, but there he is. A lone figure in what seems like a far off distance, but really he’s only a half dozen yards away. He’s standing there, his posture still horridly bent forward, like he’s waiting. There’s something in his hand - it’s mostly concealed, and it’s only after Peter tosses it to the side that Tony thinks maybe he should have been more concerned about what it could have been.

The piece of chalk rolls towards him, leaving a dusty yellow trail in its wake. There’s color left on Peter’s palm too. 

As he steps forward, he can see what Peter’s been working on - it’s a loose drawing of red and gold armor.

“At this point, it was just as easy as asking for you by name,” Peter says. 

Wow, that’s what his kid sounds like, Tony thinks. It comes and goes through his head in a haze. Then he thinks: wow, also a little presumptive and ostentatious. He sees what FRIDAY meant now. 

“I must have timed it just about right,” the kid continues, one sneaker skating along the outer edges of his drawing. “You got here awfully quick.”

There’s no reason for Tony to get as close to the kid as he does, he just knows that he can’t stop his feet until they bring him toe-to-toe with the kid. Peter, for what it’s worth, and it’s worth a lot, doesn’t step back from him. He doesn’t flinch, or even blink as his long lost father gets in his face. This kid who’s been through - 

“Your aunt is looking for you,” Tony says. Stupid. Those are his first words spoken to his son, and they’re not even about him, not really. 

Peter looks away then. “I know.” He blinks softly, eyes focusing on his interpretation of a superhero drawn before him. 

Silence is less sound and more time that passes.

“What did she say to you?” Peter asks. Even though it’s blazing hot up on the roof, there is enough of a wind that it scatters his hair about enough for him to hide under it. 

“Not much.” It was like being handed a photo and told to develop it himself. “That the two of you don’t have much of a relationship anymore, I guess.”

Tony watches for Peter to give away the slightest emotion, whether it’s a twitch or a snort, any kind of inhale. A raised eyebrow. Anything.

But he doesn’t even react, and that look in his eyes from yesterday remains.

“Well, that’s true,” is all he says. 

“And me?” Tony asks. “What do you want with me?” 

Peter looks back over now, his eyes wandering from Tony’s face to his shoulders and chest. The kid is already taller than him, Tony realizes just then. Or he would be if he stood up straight. When he meets Tony’s eyes again: “I don’t know.”

Tony could be his usual evasive self, but he’s already standing out there, exposed on a roof in the middle of Queens. He’s already lost half of his carefully constructed adult identity in the past six months that left him with a scar above one eyebrow that in time no one but him will be able to detect. 

He could deflect or joke or do anything but be up front about the possibilities between them. 

“Well, do you want to find out?”


	3. Chapter 3

Peter leads the way to a tiny Turkish cafe not too far; he assures Tony that no one will notice them, because no one else is likely to be there. He’s right on that front. They take a table, one of five, in the middle of the restaurant, not too close to the door and not too close to the kitchen. They order coffee and kunefe to have something decorate their table while they mostly stare at each other. 

Tony can tell himself that Peter physically takes after him in any number of ways - the eyes, definitely, for starters. Peter’s hair has the same wavy texture as his, if Tony were to ever let it grow out long enough for people to tell. The same thin lips, although his nose has a cuter button appearance than Tony’s. Must get that from Mary. He’s got a few freckles over the highest parts of his cheeks - Tony always thought freckles were cute and wished for them when he was younger.

Is any of it true, though? Or does Tony just see what he wants to see? He’s not convinced they’d look related to any stranger on the street. 

Peter looks Tony in the eye beat for beat, every moment - he’s not studying him the way Tony studies Peter, but why would he need to? Tony Stark has been available for anyone to study for decades now. There are deep fakes set up that people can call even. 

“You’re taller than any kid of mine that I ever imagined,” he confesses. Peter half grins at that - just a quick quirk of the lips, as if he didn’t mean to let himself slip up.

“I had a growth spurt not so long ago. Before that, I was pretty scrawny.” 

Tony takes a sip of his coffee, resisting the urge to stick out his pinky comes automatically any time something is served in such a tiny cup. Maybe it’d get the kid to smile? What to say, what to say - 

“I really didn’t know about you,” he blurts out. “Truly. No idea.”

Peter nods. “I know.”

“I don’t say that to sound chivalrous. I don’t know what I would have done if I had known. Probably would have depended on exactly what age and where I was, I guess.”

Peter nods again - he doesn’t look surprised or upset by the admission. He continually does not emote.

“But - I guess the question is what you want now. You’re legally old enough that you don’t need a guardian, certainly not a new one… If there’s something you want from me, or anything you need. I don’t know.”

“If there’s anything I need, you will assuage your guilt and provide?” Peter’s lips curl, but it’s not a smile.

Tony acts like he’s brushing his hair away from his forehead - really he’s giving it a sharp tug. “I know you’re living with a friend. If you need your own place, or want to live at the tower… If you need tuition or anything like that - ”

“I’m not in school.”

Tony snaps his jaw shut before it can hang open too long. He’s seen the kid’s academic record so far. Even if he knows nothing else about Peter Parker, it’s that he should be in school, getting any degree he wants - hell, he should be getting all the degrees. 

Peter says nothing else on the subject.

“Don’t you want to be in school?”

He shrugs with one shoulder.

“Okay. Well, we’ll come back to that.” Tony nods to himself. It’s not the lack of a degree that bothers Tony; he’s not that shallow, but the vast range of experiences and opportunities he knows a kid like Peter could have will keep him up at night if he knows Peter never goes. 

“If I don’t have a degree, it makes it easier for your board members to sleep at night, I think,” Peter says. He looks a little bored now, placing his chin in his hand and blowing at the hair hanging in his face. “No one is gonna think a kid without a college degree is worth anything to do with Stark Industries.”

“I don’t want you to worry about them.”

Peter tilts his head, leans in closer. “Shouldn’t you be worried about your life’s work falling into the wrong hands?”

He’s testing the waters, Tony knows. Surely he doesn’t actually expect Tony to have a full-on meltdown about that during their first meeting? There’s so much more than money at stake - but then again, Peter doesn’t really know Tony. He doesn’t know how little Tony is tied up in SI anymore. 

“I worry it’s already in the wrong hands. Bar Pepper, of course.”

Peter grins a little again. It’s different, this time. “She’s exactly how I thought she’d be, Pepper Potts. Simultaneously all business, but like, nice about it? I doubted it was really possible until I met her.”

Tony can’t even help himself: “And what did you think I would be like?”

Peter leans back in his chair, seemingly as far away as he can get from Tony. “I don’t know.” He blows out some more air. He thinks about it for a moment. “Quicker, I guess?”

Well. He’s not sure how offended he should be about that.

“Not like - mentally. I mean, you don’t have to prove your intellect to anyone anymore, I just meant…” Peter bites his lip, but it lasts for just a fraction of a second before he catches himself. “You’re always talking a mile a minute in every interview. I thought you’d be like that.”

“Those interviews are all about deflecting people, Peter.”

“And you’re not deflecting me?” the kid asks. They both want to cut to the chase, but neither of them are capable of really going anywhere either. 

“No, kid, I’m sitting right here.”

Peter looks down at his hands, one of which is wrapped around the miniature cup that Turkish coffee is served in. He takes it like a shot and slams it back down on the table. “So,” he says. “Here’s the thing. I could use a place to stay.”

Tony wants to roll his eyes, more in acute fondness than anything else, but he refrains from doing so. “Yeah, I know, kid.”

There’s a lot more that could and should be said in that moment, but they settle for finishing their pastries and leaving some cash on the table. Tony offers Peter a ride back, which he declines in favor of making sure he can gather his belongings from his friend’s first. Tony winces, thinking about the amount of press outside their apartment building, and thinks about insisting upon sending Happy in to get it, but he decides not to push his luck. 

Tony slides his sunglasses back on. He absolutely doesn’t need to. “I take it you know where to find me then.”

Peter just gives him a look - it’s neither fond nor amused nor aspirated. He sticks his hands into the pockets of his massive hoodie and strolls off down the street, easy as that. No goodbye. None necessary, Tony muses, even if he has no idea when Peter plans on showing up. 

Once he’s home, Tony meticulously adds Peter into FRIDAY’s database. She could write him into every clearance level for him, but Tony does it himself. Whenever he shows up, he’ll be able to let himself in, so to speak. 

It doesn’t take as long as it could, and then he just has to wait. The night gets away from him - it’s clear that Peter won’t be joining him at this point, so he haunts the living quarters, pacing from hallway to hallway. He looks over everything in his living quarters and wonders what Peter will think of them; will he find the modern furniture too gauche? Is he a vegetarian? Will be be able to eat the groceries Tony had delivered? Should he even put Peter in the same space as him, or should be give him a lower level to himself? But what does that say to his long lost son? 

The questions spin in circles and last all night. He doesn’t even feel like sleeping in a bed or on a couch, like he doesn’t deserve it - he lies down in his walk-in and eventually passes out without meaning to. 

FRIDAY wakes him in the morning, right at seven. “I didn’t set an alarm, FRI.”

“Boss, Peter Parker is here.”

That gets him up. “Where?”

“In the living room, sir.”

“Shit! Why didn’t you wake me up as soon as he was in the building?”

“You wrote the protocols yourself, sir, and you said he would be living here. I merely brought him where he’s supposed to be.”

Tony rips his door open and runs out into the living space before he can take stock of the fact he’s wearing the same thing from yesterday and he hasn’t showered or brushed his teeth. He must look the mess he feels, because when Peter turns to look at him, standing there with a duffel bag in hand, he looks a little alarmed. Or maybe that’s just Tony’s half sprint towards him. 

“Peter!” he says, one hand on his chest as if Peter was the one to scare him. In the back of his mind, he notes the way Peter flinches back, but it doesn’t do more than skim the surface of his thoughts presently. “You’re here.”

The kid looks back and forth around the floor as if to double check he’s in the right spot. “I’m still welcome, right?”

“Yes, yes, of course. Come in.” Tony waves him forward as if he weren’t already standing in his living room. God, he is decidedly not firing on all cylinders yet. “Sorry kid - I wasn’t expecting you first thing in the morning, for whatever reason. Guess it’s not like I know you or your waking habits - maybe I should have assumed differently - oh well. We’re both awake and all together and I guess I can give you the tour? Let’s start -”

“Mr. Stark.”

Tony jumps at being called Mr. Stark. By his own kid. It sounds all degrees of wrong. 

“You’re rambling. Just like I thought you would. What did you say yesterday? That your trademark speed talking was a way of deflecting?” Peter gives him a tight smile, not the kind to convey anything other than discomfort that needs to be dispelled. “You clearly weren’t expecting me. Should I come back?”

“Huh?” Tony feels like he’s drowning and there are zero life lines to be had. Peter turns half his body back towards the elevator. “No, no! Sorry. I was expecting you, I promise, and you’re very much welcome here. Mi casa es su casa, etc etc.” He squeezes his eyes shut, but it’s not enough, so he pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers as hard as he can. Breath, Stark. 

“Maybe we should get you a cup of coffee?” Peter offers. He looks miserable. Miserably confused, no doubt, as to why Tony invited him and then acted differently.

“Genius, Parker!” Tony claps his hands together, and that really startles the kid. “Let’s do that.” He’s going to reach forward to put a hand on the kid’s shoulder, but Peter takes two large strides back so there’s half a room in-between them.

“Please just call me Peter.”

Oh. “Right.” Stupid. He lowers his hand, left hanging in open air between them. “I’m sorry - it slipped out. I call most people by their surnames, as it were.”

Peter gives him the smallest of tightest smiles again. “It’s okay; I can let it slide once. Parker is just - not my name, you know?”

No, it’s his aunt’s surname. His aunt who he’s on the run from? God. It’s too fucking early in the morning for this, or it’s too fucking late in this kid’s life for it. 

“Coffee?”

“Coffee.”

“I’m assuming, based on yesterday, you’re okay with something strong? Black?” Tony asks, fiddling with his machine. It’s a great excuse to have his back to Peter’s face. 

“I’ll drink whatever.” Peter stands awkwardly at the corner of the kitchen island, bag still in hand. His head is slung forward perpetually, it seems - Tony can recognize the defeatist posture, but it’s one that his own father personally sought to rectify from Tony, no matter the consequences.

He accidentally pulls down the espresso cups with a harsher clang than he meant, startling them both. “Sorry.” Tony’s heart is racing - he can’t hardly stand every similarity that seems to already be piling up, and yet he knows absolutely nothing about this kid.

He pulls some shots for them then gestures for Peter to sit with him at the island. Tony sits. Peter doesn’t. He does accept the espresso. Today Tony notices how rough Peter’s hands look - bites his nails, from the looks of his cuticles. Another bad habit Howard Stark would be turning over in his grave to see. 

Like the day before, Peter doesn’t sip, he takes the espresso like an actual shot, gently placing the cup back down on its matching saucer after. He doesn’t react to the taste of it, either used to it or too uncomfortable in his current surroundings to notice. He looks a little dazed, too pale. He doesn’t have quite the same assuredness about himself as yesterday when he could stare down Tony across a small table. 

“Didn’t sleep much?” Tony guesses. 

“Something like that.”

Becoming a celebrity by association overnight will do that to you, Tony thinks. “I can show you to your room if you’d like.”

Peter nods, still standing. Still clutching at his measly bag of possessions. He follows Tony down the hall as he explains that he doesn’t normally live here full time, but everything is set up for as long as he wants to stay. “Of course, I could always put you up somewhere else if things are too much here.” He opens a door and FRIDAY has the lights turned on for them. “I’m right down at the end of the hall - I’ll be here as much as you need.”

Or as little as he needs.

“FRIDAY runs the place. She’s - ”

“Your AI. I read all your published specs on it last year,” the kid says. Peter found out about his paternal legacy last year, and he did his research it seems, including about how Tony runs his day-to-day business. He trails past Tony into the wide open space of the room and stops, staring out further through the window. He still doesn’t drop his bag. 

“I can give you the rest of the tour if you want -”

“I’d like a moment,” Peter says. “If - if that’s okay,” he adds a little more softly. Tony can’t see his face from the doorway.

“Of course. This is your home now.” He winces at how ridiculous that sounds. 

“Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

“Well. If you need anything, ask FRIDAY.” It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask the kid not to call him that, but Tony finds himself trailing away towards the kitchen again thinking about how he called the kid Parker not ten minutes ago. Behind him, he can hear the door softly click shut. 

He hangs around for a little bit, thinks about ordering some kind of brunch spread for the kid since it’s getting later in the morning now, but he decides to go ahead and make himself more presentable while the kid does whatever he’s doing. 

As he walks past the door, he slows down, stopping himself only short of pressing his ear to the door. He thinks he hears it - a very low sniffling. Tony walks by, and as soon as he’s on the other side of his bedroom door, then the closet door, he dials Rhodey.

As soon as the call connects, Tony says: “I think he’s crying.” For what it’s worth, his friend just sighs, and Tony knows that means he can continue. “He’s already here, in a room I gave him, and he’s crying.”

“Tony.”

“I don’t know what to do.” 

Rhodey doesn’t say anything for a long time. Tony sits on the floor in his closet, pressing the phone to his ear with both hands, and they breath together. He feels like crying himself but can’t; it’s not a foreign feeling to him. He can’t remember the last time he cried. “What have I done?”

“Tony, listen to me when I say that you’ll figure it out. You always do. And this kid, Peter - he’s clearly resourceful. He’s kept himself going this long.”

Tony wonders if Rhodey got to see the kid in person the other day or not. He’s sure his friend has seen the tabloid photos, maybe the old school photos they dug up, but if he had seen Peter in person. Well. Tony’s not sure he’d be saying that right now.

Peter is ragged - there’s no better word that Tony can come up with right now, and he’s not trying to be a privileged dick about it, but the kid looks a little rough. Physically, there’s the skeletal nature of the boy that Tony can only wonder if results from lack of access to nutrition or something more dubious in nature, but there’s also how the kid carries himself, as if he’s affronted by the thought he’s actually visible to other human beings.

“He - he might need more than I can give him, Rhodes,” Tony whispers. 

“Tony,” his friend says. 

Tony, Tony Tony. In the vacuum of his spiraling thoughts, all he can hear is other people saying his name. Saying his name to ask for something, tell him something he doesn’t know. He’s honestly sick of it, physically sick of it.

He finds himself heaving in the bathroom when he comes to. At some point, his call with Rhodey disconnected, either by FRIDAY’s action or his friend’s. There’s not much to dispel from his body though. Might help if he ate something.

Might help if the kid ate something.

Sighing, he pushes himself up and takes a quick shower so he doesn’t look quite so undone, but then he doesn’t really do any grooming, so maybe he doesn’t look so different after anyway. When he passes Peter’s room this time, while the door is still shut, it’s completely silent on the other side. He knocks quietly, then waits for a ridiculously long time before giving up and walking away.

Once he’s in the kitchen, far enough away that he won’t wake the kid if he’s sleeping, Tony asks FRIDAY to confirm that Peter is still on premises.

“Yes, boss. He has not left his room.”

Tony stands there literally twiddling his thumbs for a moment while he contemplates making something, ordering something, or just waiting until the kid shows face again to decide. Suddenly, his appetite is gone again. 

He lets his head thud against the kitchen island. What’s he supposed to do now? Is this life now? Just waiting around in case the kid needs him? In case he wants to suddenly hang out with someone he’s known about for a year and purposely not seen? Will Tony continue to feel the way he does now forever, like he can’t actually do anything, completely immobilized? 

“What do I do, what do I do?” he mutters to himself, rolling his forehead back and forth across the cool granite top. 

“You could start by eating something.” The voice is soft, but clearer than before. Tony pops his head up to see Peter sitting across from him at one of the island stools.

Sitting. As if he plans to stay.

“Uh, okay, says the pot to the kettle.”

Peter half smiles at that. It looks like it pains him. Tony can see in detail how red the skin around his eyes looks. “Yeah, well. I was thinking about looking for something, but when I stuck my head out and saw you, I thought wow. We might be alike after all.”

Immediately, Tony can already name a lot of ways that they’re alike. He keeps them to himself and wants to know all the ways Peter thinks they’re not alike instead. “How so?”

Peter just shrugs, chin in one hand. He’s watching Tony carefully - always watching. Assessing. Looking for the chinks in his armour. “I guess I’ve never seen anyone look so miserable. You know. Someone who looks exactly how I feel.”

“Thanks, kid.”

He shrugs again. “People usually try to hide it.”

“Not much I’ve been able to hide.”

“Not even a son.”

“Not even a son.”

They smile at that, together. It’s weird, because Tony can tell it’s almost genuine for once, and yet, it’s the most hurtful to look at. Oh kid, what happened to you, he wonders. 

“So, what’s for lunch?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'm still working on all series.


End file.
